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Luca never broke though. Never cried, never begged. He just laid there and took it. He lasted forever without so much of a wince. It only made him retreat further back into himself. Into what I realise now, is the safe place that is his brain.
I still can't stand to listen to anything that reminds me of that rhythm.
Drip, drip, drip.
I can't stand the noise of the indicator. Had to get them specially removed by the manufacturer of every single one of my cars. The tap in my bathroom broke last year, wouldn't stop dripping. I smashed the sink basin to a million pieces in a split-second rage.
Luca clears his throat and I shake my head to rid myself of my train of thought. Just in time, the object of my darkest most depraved thoughts comes down the stairs, dressed impeccably as usual. His three-piece suit tailored to perfection even if he is half the man I knew as a child.
The visceral hate I feel for him is a living breathing animal inside my chest. It lives with me, walks with me everywhere I go. It’s fucking engrained into my very being at this point. I look at him and I wonder if he knows how much I picture his death. I wouldn't mind burning in the process if it meant I got to take him down. I truly would give anything to hurt him a fraction of the way he hurt me and Luca. Nearly anything. The only thing I wouldn't give is Fransesca’s happiness and I hate myself for it.
His eyes, my eyes. Crawl over each of us. His overly perceptive brain takes in each detail to make sure we look perfect. “Where are Raff and Benito?”
I shove all the hatred away, down into the dark recesses of my mind where it festers and grows. “I told them to go ahead with Carmine and Paulie.” I wanted to have a presence there before we arrived. Plus Benny is a charmer. Older women love him so he's the best person to ease the tension.
My father turns his gaze towards Luca. “Tonight needs to go smoothly, Luca. I expect there to be no fuck ups.” His voice still has that icy bite in it that hasn’t softened with age.
Luca rolls his eyes, not bothering to look at him and takes a drink from his glass of whiskey, ignoring him altogether.
Francesca puts her hand through our father's arm, any nervousness from earlier, gone. Her mouth is in her perfectly constructed soft smile, grey eyes to match. “Shall we get going? We don’t want to keep them waiting.” Fran has always been good at defusing tension, I guess she's had to be. She's the best actor I’ve ever known. Better than Casimira. She gives off the picture of perfect calm and confidence when really, underneath, she’s anxious as hell most of the time. We all have masks, we just wear them differently.
We drive over to one of our new hotels, the Ophelia in Columbus Circle. The Irish weren’t best pleased when we purchased the building and there was some back and forth regarding whether it actually resides inside their territory or not. Just so we’re clear, it doesn’t.
It’s not open to the public yet hence why we’re having this on the rooftop, no witnesses. It's a large open garden with ambient lighting and a perfect view of the city. I can tell as we arrive Benny has done his job. He's conversing with Sean Murphy and his wife Rose, trying to keep the atmosphere light and as calm as possible. I can hear my cousin Arias laugh before I see her. She’s with her husband, Paulie, talking to some of our associates in a dress that’s two sizes too small for her.
I walk straight over with Salvatore and Fran to see Sean while Luca moves to the bar, his eyes crawling over the whole party as if it’s a bomb about to detonate.
“Enzo, good to see you again,” Sean says, clasping my hand in a vice handshake. His murky green eyes size me up. He's not a tall man but then not many men come close to my 6”8, but he does still have quite the presence. He’s been having as much trouble with the Bratva as we have. We’re both fighting a losing battle. It's taken us way too long to decide to put our differences aside. Fucking hate that we have to but sometimes you have to put your feelings aside and do what’s best.
“Sean.” I nod, tersely. “And this must be your wife Rose?” I pull my attention to my future mother-in-law. She’s pretty for an older woman. Mousy brown curls, heart-shaped face and soft brown eyes. Can’t say she gives me the warmest welcome, she nods her head and eyes me warily. She's not happy that I’m about to marry her eldest daughter. Can’t say that I blame her. If I ever have a daughter, I wouldn’t let her within ten feet of a man like me. I'm not exactly a poster boy for someone you’d bring home to meet the parents, even if I can play the charming part perfectly.
Salvatore claps his hands together. “So, where is my future daughter-in-law? It's probably about time she and Enzo met.”
Sean beckons Isla over. She's sitting at a low table with another similar-looking girl who must be her sister. Isla glances over and quickly gets to her feet, walking over to us with her eyes slightly downcast. She's not bad to look at. The same heart-shaped face and mousy brown hair as her mother and that colouring that is so obviously Irish, lily white with dark brown freckles. Thank god she resembles her mother over her father. Not sure what I would have done if I had to marry the female version of Sean. Maybe fucked her with a bag over her head?
She wears a dress that makes her look like a meringue. It’s short, which surprises me because the Irish are more conservative than most of the Italian families. The sleeves are puffy with tiny pearls adorning the fabric. She's 22 but she looks like a child bride. I look away because the stark realisation makes me want to tell Sean I'd rather wait a few years until she's older.
Her sister abruptly stands up and marches over behind her, eyes narrowed on me the whole time like I've personally upset her. Her hair is dyed black, sunglasses on in the night like she’s at a fucking funeral.
Ilsa glances at her sister imploringly, a slight blush covering her nose and face. If my memory serves correctly, her sister is less than a year younger than her but I haven't heard a whole lot about her. You would think that Sean and Rose only had the two kids with how little this one is mentioned.
“Let's leave these two to get to know each other a bit shall we?'' Sean says.
Isla’s sister gives her father a look that could rival Luca when he’s mad. “They're not married yet, you can't leave them alone together.” She practically hisses at him.
His eyes flare and he wraps an arm over her shoulders. It’s meant to look comforting but I see the slight wince of her mouth when his hand clasps her shoulder. “Grace.” His tone has a hint of warning as he steers her away. Her mother following close behind.
It's only as everyone’s walked away and it's just me and Isla that I realise how short she is, she barely reaches my chest and she’s in heels.
I take a look at where her sister seems to be giving her mother an earful. “Your sister seems nice.”
She glances towards her and smiles sadly. “She means well. She just worries about me and she’s not a-.” She takes a sharp breath. “She’s not great with people. I know it can come off quite abruptly sometimes so I apologise on her behalf.” She flashes me a shy smile, her hands held in front of her as she fidgets with her fingers anxiously.
I watch as her father returns to Grace with another guy and seems to be sending her home. “Don't apologise, she sounds like a good sister.”
We watch as one of the Irish men guides Grace to the elevator and Grace shoots me a scathing look before he pushes her in with a roll of his eyes. “She is,” Isla says softly before turning back to me. We look at each other and a few beats pass. I'm not sure she really wants this either. I think she’s just trying to do right by her family. That makes two of us.
I signal the waiter for a drink and walk over to a free booth in the corner, Isla following dutifully behind me. I’m going to need a lot of alcohol to get through tonight.
